Resident Evil: Valentine's Day
by CapnHannahSolo
Summary: 1998 - Chris Redfield asks Jill Valentine out for Valentine's Day, but she doesn't think it's such a good idea. Can he convince her to go out with him? Flash forward to 2007, Chris and Jill are about to get the jump on Ozwell E. Spencer, when Chris finally gets the nerve to tell Jill that he's in love with her. Will he get the chance to tell her before Fate intervenes?


February 1, 1998: STARS Locker room

Barry Burton finished rearranging the miscellaneous contents of his locker. He closed the door with little thought at such a mundane action since most doors in his life were opened and closed multiple times a day with little incident. However, this time he didn't expect the seemingly instantaneous materialization of a talking face behind it.

"I'm taking Valentine out."

"Gah!" blurted Burton with a jump. "Dammit, Chris. I'm an old man. I near pissed myself!"

"Did you hear me?" said the young but serious and unshaven face of the historically uncompromising Chris Redfield.

"What? You're taking who out?"

"Valentine."

"Jill?"

"Yeah!" Redfield's excited smile was heard through his voice as his eyes brightened with Burton's attention at his statement, fully expecting the old family friend to support his venture.

"No."

The blue eyes darkened with mild hurt and confusion. "Why not?"

"She's too good for you."

Chris averted his gaze to the side of the locker room and kept his cool stance by his own locker, hanging one arm casually over the top of the open door. "Yeah, she is," he said nodding without showing a hint of diffidence. "But what makes you say so?"

"'Cause I know you, Redfield," replied the other with a stern look of finality.

"You know, Burton, you say that with this tone that implies that I should know what you're talking about, but I'm not getting the insinuation."

Although Barry knew better, he continued. "Well, like that for example," he replied pointing at the black and white picture of a scantily clad 1950's female posing in an ostensible s-curve plastered all over the inside of Redfield's locker door.

"What? This?" returned Chris looking at the picture. "That's not offensive. That's vintage."

"It's still a woman in her underwear objectifying herself. Jill's innocent."

"Innocent?" echoed the younger man with incredulity. "Did you see the way Valentine 'Nancy-Kerrigan-ed' that drug smuggler to save Vickers last week? That little girl knew what she was doing."

"That's not what I mean, Chris."

"You think I'm some kind of a prick, don't you?"

"Well, I've seen what you date."

"Oh c'mon!" groaned the younger man, emphasizing his frustration with slamming his locker door closed. "Bambi approached me at the bank. I didn't pursue her. And besides which, didn't you notice that whole affair didn't last very long?"

Burton shrugged. The female example that Chris Redfield had dated for a very short stint had been a skinny bleach blonde where either God had spent more effort fashioning her breasts than brains, or some surgeon had. Bambi had been the epitome of everything that Jill Valentine wasn't, and that was not to the former's credit. "I guess. But I don't like the idea. If she has any sense, and you truly do have any respect, then you'll drop the whole thing altogether."

"I don't get you. And if Jill does have any sense, and I know she does, then she won't have a problem with it," stated Chris as he and Barry began leaving the locker room.

"So, you mean, you haven't actually asked her out yet?" asked Burton.

"Well . . . no . . . ."

"Then what are you getting me all worked up for?"

"Because I know she'll say yes. Jill apparently knows me better than you do. I mean, we're partners after all."

"Which is another reason why this is a stupid idea."

"Fine. I don't need your permission anyway." Chris was fully undaunted by Barry's lack of a blessing on his venture for ultimately, it wasn't up to him.

When Redfield and Burton walked into the STARS office, the place was busy with controlled chaos. Some members were missing on small details, while others were holding private meetings with other team members about something else. Jill Valentine was at her desk, multi-tasking with writing, typing, and looking up miscellaneous information in a book – possibly in the throes of writing her report on the drug smuggler the STARS teams had to contend with last week. Burton looked over at Chris who was staring at Jill with a sincere broad smile that lit up his whole face, and the older man had to admit that he had never witnessed Redfield look like that with the infamous Bambi. Jill went to open the drawer underneath the desktop, but it was held fast, and she began struggling with it for a few moments.

"Watch me," whispered Chris to Burton. Barry quietly took his seat at his desk and pretended to not be the wiser.

Chris nonchalantly continued toward Jill's desk and pounded a strong fist onto the top of the desk causing the drawer to pop open without challenge and surprising Valentine. She looked up. "Oh, thanks, Chris."

"No problem." Chris took his seat while Jill took out a pencil from the drawer and continued working. Although his back was to her, Chris kept his head turned and a sidelong eye on Valentine as though he was picking a moment, and letting the appropriate time pass. As is its want, the appropriate time must have gone by sooner than later, and Chris pushed himself from his desk, angling his chair to collide into Jill's desk right beside her. The collision jarred his partner only for a moment as she went right back to work.

Burton raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, Valentine," began Chris as Jill wasn't acknowledging him even though this was an odd placement for her partner, and his chair was invading her space. "We're awesome partners, aren't we?"

"Of course, Chris."

"I mean, I save your life, you save mine. I can't fit into small places like you can, but I can throw you over obstacles. You need a pencil, and I can show your desk who's boss. . . ."

"Sure, Chris," returned Jill erasing something with a passion, and otherwise seeming as though his words weren't penetrating.

"So I was thinking, what are you doing on the fourteenth?"

"The fourteenth?" She thought for a second as the significance of the date meant nothing to her. "Oh probably nothing."

"Well . . . you wanna partner up with me that day?"

"But we're already partners."

"I mean . . . after work."

Jill's brows furrowed in thought. "What for? Tennis?"

"I don't know. Dinner and a movie. Dancing. Whatever you want."

"I don't think so, Chris."

"HA!" cried out Burton with a joyous clap. Valentine didn't notice, and Chris just flashed him a look as he was now too busy with his current situation to ruminate on the other although more irritating one.

"Why not, Jill?"

Valentine got up from her desk with papers in hand and pushed past Chris' legs who made no effort to get out of her way in the attempt to impede her so she couldn't escape so easily.

"I just don't think it's a good idea."

She nearly got past when Chris moved his legs to entangle her again, and she nearly fell on him, but regained herself quickly and kept persisting in pushing past with a strange abundance of patience.

"Well, I disagree!"

"And I think we can agree to disagree."

"No," came Chris with a pout seeping into his tone. He moved his legs again. "C'mon, Jill."

"No, Chris!" she insisted. While fighting to get past him, Jill's beret fell from her head. She caught it just in time, but left herself unstable. Chris steadied her with a hand on her hip so she wouldn't fall.

"But it's Valentine's Day!"

"So?" she replied.  
"It's Valentine's Day," Chris only repeated with a slight moan as the discouragement and diffidence had found a space and were finally settling in. He relented and let her go. Jill started up the center isle toward Captain Wesker's desk, but she turned around to face Redfield one last time before moving forward.

"Go ask one of your bimbos, then! We've all seen what type you like!" She promptly turned on her heel and continued on her way.

"Bambi approached me, dammit!" Chris called back not just to Valentine but also out to the whole universe so it could stop punishing him for his misjudgment.

From behind him, Chris heard Barry Burton laughing loudly. Redfield turned, grabbed a fistful of peppermints from the candy dish on Valentine's desk, and sent them whizzing for Burton's head. Barry threw up a clipboard in front of his face, and blocked every possible minty fresh aerial assailant, sending them splashing into oblivion throughout the STARS office.

One skidded rather surreptitiously onto the desk of Rebecca Chambers who seemed to be doing nothing more than sitting quietly with hands folded on her desk at the time. At the peppermint's appearance, she curiously looked up at the ceiling, but found nothing of the ilk of a magical peppermint raincloud. She shrugged, unwrapped the candy and put it in her mouth.

With Barry Burton still laughing behind him, Chris leaned forward, elbows to knees with his hands in front of him with a furrowed brow and a perturbed grimace, watching Agent Jill Valentine talk to Captain Wesker. This was going to require some tactics.

February 1, 2006: BSAA US Headquarters

Two of the BSAA's premier agents, Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, were walking down a main corridor of the large BSAA headquarters. Although their expressions were of a confident determination, their steps were lively and nearly in time. Over the years, Chris had learned to adapt his walk to accommodate Jill's as her strides were shorter than his. Little had Chris realized that over time, this accommodation had become easier to adapt because Jill had trained herself to take slightly longer strides in order to keep up with Chris.

The two agents were coming from the intelligence room, and the news they had received there had been good. Ozwell E. Spencer, the madman behind the Umbrella Corporation, and the creator of the infamous Albert Wesker had been found and his current whereabouts known.

Chris and Jill hadn't said a word to each other since leaving the intelligence room as both of them were having internal conversations with themselves about the next step, and ideas were culminating. Redfield broke the mentally-crackling silence as he suddenly gave way to joy and surprised Jill Valentine by scooping her up into his arms and whirling her around before placing her back on her feet.

"This is it, Jill!" he exclaimed.

And Jill, now laughing at her partner's sudden vocal and physical outburst replied, "It sure feels like it. But we don't know if Spencer knows where Wesker is."

"I know. But I can't help but get a good feeling from this. I can't wait to leave!" He threw a fist into his hand to burn off some more energy.

They turned a corner and entered the locker room.

"Hopefully all this will be over soon," said Jill as they arrived at their lockers, which were located next to each other. She opened the door and found two curious articles that she hadn't placed there before: a rose and a note that simply said, "14 days left". Valentine pulled out the rose and partially closed her locker door so she could face Chris. "What's this all about?"

He smiled. "I bet you thought I forgot."

"Actually I was hoping you had."

"Why?" Although his face and tone didn't show it, Redfield was a little hurt.

"Because it's not like there's a St. Redfield's Day where I can take you out."

"So what?" he replied. "Think of this as a show of appreciation for being my favorite partner, coming with me through hell and back, and saving my ass multiple times."

Jill brought the plush rose to her face to inhale its fragrance. "But I can say the same about you. You'll have to pick a day, and we'll make it Redfield's Day or something."

"Nah," returned Chris. "It doesn't bother me that Redfield's Day doesn't exist."

Valentine knew her partner's stubbornness and in the areas where it reared its head. This was one of them so she didn't pursue the issue. Instead, she thought to suggest something different that wouldn't seem so unfair albeit it still wouldn't balance the situation. "Fine then. But don't take me out this year. Why don't you just come over, I'll cook, and we'll watch a movie."

"But that just sounds like Wednesdays."

"I'll make something really fancy then. We'll both dress up or something."

"C'mon, Jill."

"It'll make me feel better. It'll be less unfair."

Chris never minded that a day didn't exist that his partner could exploit as an excuse to do nice things for him, and certainly never minded the expense he often put into Valentine's Day for his Jill. However, for the sake of her feelings, and for the sake of not wishing to invest any energy into an argument, he nearly conceded. "I'll think about it."

February 1998, RACCOON CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Chris Redfield was in the midst of his usual workout routine in the weight room of the Raccoon City Police Department. The weight room actually wasn't a room by itself, but more like a caged off area from the larger workout space. One needed a key to get in and use the equipment while the rest of the workout area was generally a space where one could perform any other non-weight bearing activity for fitness.

Redfield was currently working on his abdominals, hanging upside down by his knees from suspended rings, doing sit-ups, and making it look easy regardless of all his sweating. In between contractions, Chris could see the rest of the workout space, and he was watching his partner, Jill Valentine, making her way to the yoga mats, carrying a conversation with Rebecca Chambers. Being partners, he knew her habits. Chris finished his set, freed himself from the suspended rings, and made a controlled landing onto his feet. He watched and waited.

Valentine pulled a yoga mat from the compartments lining the wall, and while still talking with Chambers, innocently unrolled the mat to the floor. Unnaturally, a rose with a note tied to its stem rolled out onto the newly flattened mat. She curiously picked up the rose as Rebecca Chambers looked up at the ceiling, expecting to see something the ilk of a magical, rose raincloud, but once again being disappointed. Valentine looked at the note and read: "13 days left." Suddenly feeling the sensation of eyes upon her, she looked around the workout room and saw Chris through the bars of the weight room. He pointed at her, then at himself, and made a "v" shape with his fingers, mouthing the words "Valentine's Day".

But Jill Valentine shook her head resolutely and mouthed back the word, "no."

Chris didn't change his facial expression, but brought his finger to the inside corner of his eye and traced the trail of an imaginary tear down his cheek.

Jill only turned her back to him, and resumed her conversation with Chambers.

That was only the beginning as Chris found new ways to pester his partner with his request, forcing her to create adequate ways to say no. A couple of mornings came to the STARS office where Jill Valentine would find rose petals spread across her desk in the shape of whatever corresponding number to how many days were left until Valentine's Day. Although Chris would see a flash of surprise on her face, Jill would quickly and nearly seamlessly regain composure and coolly sweep the petals off her desk with her arm into the garbage can with such an air that suggested that she had no idea why someone would leave such a meaningless mess on her desk, but that it was not worth the bothering about who had left it. Then she would sit down to work on some other task, saying nothing to Chris, nor acknowledging Barry Burton's laughing.

However, the whole thing did come to an annoying head, as it seemed that Jill was being inundated with roses, their petals, or some other symbol of Valentine's Day. After about a week, Jill confronted Chris in the STARS locker room as he was sitting on a bench, lacing up this boots.

"Chris! This is getting ridiculous!" she said waving another rose in his face.

"How so?"

"You keep doing these things, and my answer isn't going to change."

"Guess I'll have to try harder then," he flippantly replied.

Jill sighed out of exasperation as her usual abundance of patience had quickly been used up throughout the past week or so. "Don't you realize that we could compromise our partnership by any extra-curricular activities?"

"Whoa," replied Chris raising his hands to placate her. "Who said anything about 'extra-curricular activities'? I wouldn't do anything to possibly ruin our partnership. I rather like it."

"Then why –"

He cut her off. "When was the last time you went on a date, Valentine?"

Jill paused as she was taken aback by such an unprecedented question. "Oh . . . I don't know . . . about four years." She blushed at the honest answer that seemed unrealistic but was the truth.

"Four years?!" Redfield was in disbelief. "I had a feeling it had been a while, but geez, Valentine."

"Well . . . I've been busy . . . ."

"I doubt that's true," said Chris. "I'll bet it has more to do with the plethora of assholes out there, and you've run into your fair share. I'll bet you would've made time for someone that was worth it. Someone you could trust. Am I right?"

She looked to the floor. "I guess so."

"Well, I'm someone you can trust. I'm not an asshole. I'm not even expecting anything in return."

"Then why –"

He cut her off again. "Let's just say you'd be doing me a favor. I've been in the same boat as you, and I'd like to show you a little appreciation. Not to mention the fact that I've had that feeling that it had been a while since you've been on a date, and I'd like to break that dry spell for you even though technically, I guess, you could say it's not a real date since . . . well . . . you know."

Jill looked at the rose and understood something that Chris hadn't said directly and actually didn't mean. She had never had anyone try so hard get her affections, and now she realized that wasn't even where he was coming from. The place where her partner was coming from sounded more like pity, and this fact hurt, regardless of the remaining fact, that for the sake of the partnership, she couldn't accept his affection or return it. She sighed heavily. "It's just not a good idea, Chris," she said quietly. Jill dropped the rose beside him on the bench and walked away.

"Dammit!" exclaimed Chris as soon as his partner was outside of earshot.

"You played that terribly," said Burton who had been at his locker behind Redfield and had heard the whole conversation.

"What do you mean? I meant what I said."

"Take it from someone who's been married a while and has daughters of his own," said Barry turning around to face Chris. "I get that you don't want to hurt the partnership between you and Jill, but you can't ask her out for Valentine's Day out of pity. Women want to feel special."

"Who said anything about pity?" replied Chris with some agitation. "I do want to take her about because she's special. She _is_ special."

"Your sister is special to you too, Chris, but you wouldn't take her out for Valentine's Day."

"Wait a minute here," came Chris, "being Jill's partner, let me just say, that if anyone can appreciate that unintentional, sassy little wiggle of hers, it's me. And I didn't just happen to notice it when Captain Wesker made us take salsa dance lessons to strengthen the partnership, although there were times I stood back and watched it a lot."

"So . . . you're saying, that you are attracted to her . . . in that way?"

"I'd be a eunuch if I wasn't!"

"But yet you know that you could destroy the partnership by dating her and things not working out, right?" questioned Barry.

"Of course," replied the other. "And that means too much to me to mess it up." He returned to lacing his boot. ". . . But it's just crazy how life is."

"How do you mean?"

Chris halted tying his boot and thought for a moment before he answered and sighed heavily. "Like, why couldn't I have met _her_ at the bank? Why did I have to run into Jill Valentine and become her partner at the place where I work, where there's greater stakes involved that could not only harm us, but all of the STARS? I just wanted a day, Barry, and Valentine's Day was the perfect excuse."

"Hm." Barry was lost in thought at Redfield's speech, but didn't reveal the contents of his thoughts. "So, you gonna give up then?"

Chris picked up the rose. "Hell no. It's all I got."

FEBRUARY 2006, BSAA HEADQUARTERS – INTELLIGENCE ROOM

A grayer Barry Burton sat at a monitor looking at readouts and thinking. "You must be really pleased that they found Spencer."

Chris Redfield was standing behind Burton, leaning on a file cabinet. "Yeah." His tone was unconvincing.

But Barry heard it, and naturally wasn't convinced. "What's this all about? Last week, you were on cloud nine."

"We just found out that we'll be leaving on the 12th."

"So?"

Chris shrugged. "It just would have been the first Valentine's Day in the past few years where we wouldn't be out of the country. I'm happy to go after Spencer, but . . . ."

Burton turned in the chair to face Chris as a reverie returned to him. He slightly laughed. "You two are still doing that Valentine's Day thing?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Burton lightheartedly shook his head as if the two agents that he had known the longest were a lost cause somehow. "Why don't you just ask her to marry you already?"

"What?" returned Chris in a manner of amused disbelief.

"I remember several years ago a few things a younger Chris Redfield had told me about wondering why he couldn't have met Jill Valentine under normal circumstances. And here we are, the circumstances have changed considerably, but you're acting like they haven't."

"Right," said Chris. "They have changed; they've gotten worse."

"How so?" challenged the older agent.

"Even higher stakes. Despite our best efforts, bioterrorism is a growing threat, and Wesker's out there murdering innocents left and right."

"True," agreed Burton. "But it's not like you have a team to consider where personal feelings could endanger them. You and Jill do field missions on your own where intense personal feelings might actually make you stronger."

The older man's last statement seemed to affect Chris Redfield in a way that was too uncomfortable, like expressing permission to do something secretly longed for that had been forbidden with the accompanying fear of losing that permission for it was too good to be true. Chris looked away. "I don't think she'd have me."

It sounded like an excuse. "Why wouldn't she?" the other asked, taking a visual assessment of the younger man in front of him whose sheer muscle mass alone would have qualified him to many a woman as an Adonis.

"She knows where I'm insane."

Barry scoffed. "And you think there isn't a little insanity in Jill Valentine to hunt after you when you went after Wesker and to stay your partner through it all?"

"Well speaking of which," continued Redfield, "there is the partnership to think about . . . ."

"So what?" returned Barry. "Cops have opposite sex partners, and I've heard of many instances where they end up marrying each other."

"A lot of them get divorced too," Chris quickly pointed out.

"Yeah, but you and Jill get along and know each other better than most married couples I know. I don't think that would happen to you."

"Okay, but what if I were to ask her, and she said no. Things would forever be weird."

"I still don't think she'd say no," returned Burton very seriously.

Chris Redfield looked away again before he said, "I guess we'll never know will we?"

"Oh Chris," groaned the other with exasperation. "What are you afraid of? Or are you just not attracted to her anymore?"

As if on cue, Jill walked past the window of the intelligence room that faced the main corridor. Where as they could see her, she wouldn't have known they were in there for the darkness was just penetrated by the LED lights and monitors. Barry observed Chris watch her the whole time before she disappeared down another corridor with the safety of being hidden by the darkness.

". . . No . . . it's not that," Redfield replied quietly.

"You really think she'd reject you," stated Barry with some disbelief, which seemed to lead him to an epiphany. "You won't take the risk because you're petrified of losing her."

"Can we just not talk about this anymore?" Chris gruffly replied.

Barry shrugged in a defeated manner to diffuse Redfield's angst. "You got it."

FEBRUARY 1998, STARS OFFICE

"Would one of you mind telling me what the hell is going on?" came the authoritative voice of Captain Albert Wesker.

Two of his best agents were sitting before him at his desk; two that he had personally partnered up thinking it beneficial for his aims, but not expecting the kind of shenanigans he'd have to witness for the past several days. He had thought it only routine silliness at first, when he found Chris Redfield at the locker of Jill Valentine, performing a rudimentary lone salsa dance with a rose in his teeth. Captain Wesker had thought he'd nipped the behavior in the bud when he calmly walked up beside Redfield to cuff him on the back of head causing him to spit out the rose and halt his senseless dancing. But Wesker hadn't been so lucky.

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Redfield shifting in his seat slightly while Jill Valentine, sitting beside him, bit her lip from embarrassment.

The captain held up Chris Redfield's gun range target from practice earlier that day; it was free from any holes. "You're my best marksman, Chris, so I found it curious that your target had been untouched. However . . ." Wesker put down Redfield's and held up Jill's, "I found it even more disconcerting when I found that Jill's target looked like this." Valentine's target was riddled with holes creating the shape of a heart with a question mark inside of it. "At first," began Wesker, "I had thought that maybe Jill had been coming along in her marksmanship, until I realized that the holes in this target indicate that they came from a trajectory other than directly in front of it."

Jill bit her thumbnail.

"Well, I can explain, Captain," replied Redfield.

The captain put down the target, and leaned back in his chair expectantly. Although he was wearing his sunglasses like he always did even indoors, both agents could feel him glaring slightly upon them.

Jill could feel herself hoping that Chris wouldn't tell the truth for she found it a little embarrassing. She trusted her partner though to use right judgment.

"You see," began Redfield, "I had asked Jill if she would like to accompany me for some . . . extra-curricular activities on the fourteenth with it being Valentine's Day and all."

Jill found Chris using the phrasing "extra-curricular" as interesting and hoped that Captain Wesker didn't take it as Chris had taken it several days prior. Her partner may have been a disturbance to her workflow, but she didn't want to see him incriminate himself either.

Captain Wesker harrumphed. "Like a date, then?"

Chris continued, "Yes . . . , but she refused my invitation. So . . . that's what all this has been about."

"We don't tolerate harassment in STARS, Chris."

"I didn't feel like I was being harassed, Captain," Jill quickly interjected although it was partially a lie. Had it all been coming from any of her teammates other than Chris Redfield, she knew she most likely would have felt harassed. She knew that although her partner had asked her on a Valentine's Day excursion out of pity, he was coming from a place of concern for her. The only problem she truly had with it was the fact that she was a little hurt by the motivation.

"I hate to do this, since you both show so much promise when combined, but if this keeps I'll have to split up the partnership," responded the Captain.

But Chris and Jill both uttered vocal protests.

"You see, Captain," began Chris, "I had sort of been thinking of this as like a means to strengthen the partnership, spend some quality time getting to know Jill better . . . for the sake of the team, sir."

Captain Albert Wesker placed a thoughtful hand to his chin and was quiet for such a long period of time that Redfield and Valentine were beginning to feel uncomfortable. With his dark sunglasses, it was nearly impossible to feel remotely at ease with what he might have been thinking since his eyes were completely removed from all interpretation.

Finally he spoke, "All of this nonsense would cease if Jill had answered yes, then?"

"Of course, sir," replied Redfield.

"Right then. Valentine, I order you to go out with Chris on Valentine's Day, and have a report to me about it a week from then."

"What?" cried Jill.

"Dismissed," ordered Wesker as though not hearing her protest. The Captain quickly stood from his desk and left the room.

"Yes!" exclaimed Chris. He looked over at Jill and smiled. "I knew I loved that man like me own pappy for some reason."

"What a strange man," said Jill more to herself than to her partner. She looked around at the floor with disbelief. "What a very strange man. . . . "

While Valentine was left in shock and Redfield to his delight, had either of the two of them looked back on this moment in hindsight from the experience of approximately eight years, they might have realized that Captain Wesker's unconventional response had been more to suit his agenda than their own.

FEBRUARY, 2006 - JILL VALENTINE'S APARTMENT

Jill Valentine was sitting comfortably with her legs folded at her side on her couch with a mug of hot tea in her hands, watching the classic movie channel, which, with no surprise, was showing a classic movie in the utmost classic combination of tones of black and white. It was a movie she had seen before and therefore, she was not perturbed in the slightest when her cell phone rang. She picked it up to see the most familiar of names to her and answered it.

"Hello?"

"I'm mad at you," came the masculine tones of her partner, Chris Redfield. Despite his proclamation, he hardly sounded angry.

"About?"

"Wait. Before I go on, let me just ask something; if I don't concede to your demands, then there's no Valentine's Day, is there?"

"I can assure you, Chris, that Valentine's Day will exist for other people, but not for you."

"G'dammit, Valentine! Then, I am mad at you."

"Why?" Jill hid her amusement by taking a sip of tea.

"You took everything away from me. I can't take you to dinner and dancing, I can't parade you around like you have no taste in men, and I can't even confuse old people that have been listening to our conversations when they ask us how long we've been married. What's left for me to feel like a man?!"

"I don't know." Jill shrugged and nonchalantly took another sip of her tea. "Oh! I guess you could always adopt the chauvinistic mindset and take delight in a woman cooking and serving you a nice dinner."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a mere moment before Chris responded.

"No. No. That doesn't work for me."

"Then I don't know what to tell you," Jill replied.

"Dammit, Valentine! Just dammit!"

"So you're cancelling Valentine's Day this year?" Albeit her tone was the most innocent yet, the question provoked Chris into more frustration, and she knew that it would.

"No. I'm meeting your demands."

"Fine. Dinner's at seven."

FEBRUARY, 1998 – CHRIS REDFIELD'S APARTMENT

Chris Redfield had just gotten out of the shower when he heard the phone on the kitchen wall ring. Since it was on the way and too late in the evening for solicitors, he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chris."

He immediately recognized the feminine tones on the other end and smiled. "I've been waiting for you to call."

Jill hesitated. ". . . What do you mean?"

"Well, you have to know where I'm going to take you so you know how to dress, right? So you can pick out your little outfit and do your girl thing."

"Actually . . . no. I wasn't calling about that – I mean, well – actually I am calling about that, but . . . not about that . . . in regards to that."

Chris' brows furrowed with some concern and he bit his bottom lip. Listening to his partner, he could sense the anxiety in her voice. It wasn't in his character to be pushy in getting women to go out with him; his efforts for Jill's acceptance of a Valentine's date was a separate consideration. However, her tone and hesitation was making him anxious as well but in a different context. Chris was hoping he wasn't going to have to turn into something he generally disliked towards a woman that he genuinely cared for and respected very much. He tried to make his tone as understanding as possible.

"Okay . . . well, what about that?"

"We need to call it off."

Chris placed his forehead on the kitchen wall as he had dreaded those words from her. He grimaced, knowing that he at least was going to have to touch on becoming something his disliked towards this woman that he never thought of becoming or wanted to be.

Jill couldn't know that the uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line, was not Chris' anger, but him just sorting through the right words to say without using the usual "douchebag" vernacular, and he was struggling. But because the silence was uncomfortable, Jill thought she would have to help diffuse it by continuing to talk.

"I mean, I know, Captain Wesker gave us the order, but I feel that we can always get out of it. You could blame it on me, and say I got sick or something."

Chris slowly and softly banged his head on the kitchen wall a couple times – slowly because his angst didn't warrant anything faster, and softly because he didn't want Valentine to hear. He felt he was going to have to bite a bullet of douchebag proportions.

". . . Chris?"

"Don't be like that, Jill. It'll be fun!"

"But –"

"If you don't tell me what you'd like to do, then I'll have to pick."

"Well – okay, fine, I guess. Let's keep it casual."

"Casual? No, I don't think so. Then we might as well be bowling."

"But, I like bowling."

"It's Valentine's Day, Jill. We're not bowling."

"But, I like bowling."

"Dammit, Valentine, we're getting you in a dress!" Chris couldn't help but let a little frustration show this time even as he disguised it with a mild joking manner. "I'm giving you an excuse to get all dolled up, and I'm treating you like a lady, which implies that there is nothing casual or cheap about this junket, now do you understand me, or am I going to have to report to the captain about your insubordination?"

And hearing Jill's uneasy sigh where he rather would have liked to hear a laugh made Redfield feel like a jerk even though his threat was empty and he knew she knew that.

"Okay."

And to Chris, she almost sounded sad. He didn't allow himself to consciously acknowledge it, but it broke his heart a little.

FEBRUARY 11th, 2006, BSAA HEADQUARTERS - INTELLIGENCE ROOM

Quint Cetcham looked at the calendar and threw himself back into his swivel chair in self-disgust. "Aw, man!" his nasal voice declared with a groan. "Only a few days before Valentine's Day, and I don't have a date. Looks like I'll have to pass another year by."

A few monitors over and from behind Quint, Parker Luciani, chuckled to himself. "Your life sounds so difficult," came his characteristic Italian accent sprinkled with amused sarcasm.

"Are you sure Jessica was a traitor to the cause?" posed Quint. "I mean, are you really sure she actually shot you and pushed that self-destruct button?"

Parker kept typing something on the keyboard in front of himself, working as he continued conversing with his compatriot. "Well," he sighed, "she didn't actually shoot me; she was aiming for Raymond. I just stopped the bullet . . . with my body. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm pretty sure I could have had a chance with her, if I had just had a little more time to be able to nose around in her personal affairs . . . you know, to find out more about her."

"To exploit her personal tastes to use for your benefit, in other words," stated Parker.

"Yeah, something like that."

This time, Luciani looked up from his work. "You worry me, 'Jackass'."

"How come?"

"I don't think it's right for you to be using your hacking skills on the fairer sex to obtain personal details about their lives to use as a means to get them to go out with you."

Quint leisurely swiveled his chair around to face his comrade. "God didn't give me muscles and good looks. But He did give me this brain and these computer skills, so the way I look at it, I'm just using what I got to give me an advantage the same way 'Homer' can make all the ladies around here swoon just by walking through the door," he stated, leaning forward to emphasize his point. In doing so, he caught a glimpse of one of the internal security camera monitors with images that piqued his interest. "And speaking of 'Homer' . . . ." Quint swiveled back around, and used the terminal to push himself from it. He and his black leather transport, rolled smoothly across the room as he angled himself to turn it back around to gently collide into the security monitor's terminal. "Check this out."

Parker was less than enthused to halt what he was doing to entertain Quint's fascination, and was nearly certain that whatever had grasped the other's attention was not worth heeding, however, he knew he needed to at least feign some interest, otherwise, Quint would never leave him to finish his task in peace. "What are you looking at over there?"

"It's the security camera in front of the north supply closet."

"You're intrigued by someone stealing staplers?"

"No, no, no. Come have a look!"

Parker looked up to see Quint with his back fully toward him, with his eyes apparently engrossed at what was on the screen. His left arm however, was waving wildly, motioning to him to come and see. Parker sighed audibly, wishing this nonsense to be over soon, and knowing that unless he actually got up from his chair, that he'd never hear the end of it. With a slight wince during the transition, and a nearly undetected limp from his previously mentioned gunshot wound, Luciani, made his way over to the internal security camera's monitor to snoop with his fellow BSAA agent. He was mildly surprised to see that what was developing on screen was more interesting than he had assumed.

At first, it was nothing – just simply agents Valentine and Redfield standing inside the roomy supply closet. The security camera didn't pick up sound, but from how Jill was motioning, they could tell she was requesting that her partner get something down for her from a shelf too high for her to reach. Redfield grabbed the small box from the shelf, but instead of handing her the item, he kept it held high over her head. She asked him to hand it to her. He lowered it to just within her grasp, but quickly yanked it from her as she tried to grab it. From the resulting look on her face as she spoke, Valentine seemed to be offering her partner an ultimatum if he did not comply. Redfield smiled knavishly and seemed to be daring her. He slowly lowered the box, but in anticipating Jill's lightening fast attempt to grab it, he whipped it back high over her head again before she could succeed. There was a tense moment where Valentine placed her hands on her hips and looked coyly at her partner who returned her look and gave her a lopsided smile. Suddenly, the attack came; Jill Valentine threw herself onto the much larger Chris Redfield, climbing up his mountainous physique and reaching for her prize as he tried to hold and wave the item away from her, switching hands whenever she adjusted herself to get close. Her efforts became quickened and more violent as Chris insisted that she could not have it unless she forcefully took it from him - seemingly undaunted by her body coiled around him. But with her increased voracity, Redfield had to try harder to keep the box away from her, and soon, in the hurried mix up of flying appendages and physical madness, Chris lost his balance and they both crashed into the side shelving and fell into a heap on the floor. Jill, who ended up on top, pulled herself up from Chris' chest and waved the small box in his face, gloating playfully about how she had used the confusion of the fall to her advantage. Chris just laughed.

"There! See, now!" came Quint. "You can't tell me there isn't something going on between those two."

"What do you mean?" rejoined Luciani, faking stupidity for the sheer uncommitted attempt to make Cetcham doubt himself.

But Quint was too smart for that. "C'mon, Parker. When you and Jill were partnered up all that time testing the Genesis and looking for Chris and Jessica, didn't she say anything to you?"

"About Chris?"

Quint glared over his thick-rimmed glasses, telling Parker that no matter how much he stalled, he couldn't keep his fellow agent, whose expertise was in intelligence, from finding out everything so he might as well cut the act.

And Parker must have either seen it Cetcham's way then, or decided that hiding nothing wasn't worth the effort anyway for he let down the barricade of ignorance. "She didn't say much really. But I could tell she was much more worried about his safety than we both were about Jessica's . . . . I suppose, in a way, that could have insinuated an attraction . . . or maybe just an attitude befitting two people who've been partners for several years and brought down Umbrella together."

Quint relaxed back into his chair and was altogether bored with the lack of information from Luciani. "Parker, I know you can do better than that."

The other shrugged. "I don't know," he replied nonchalantly. "Whereas Jill never said anything definitive to me, I do know that Jessica had told me that Chris never acknowledged her advances toward him –"

Quint shot up straight in his chair in disappointed shock at the mention of Sherawat actively trying to entice Redfield with her obtusely sexual, feminine wiles.

But the other pretended not to notice and continued. "I merely pointed out to her then that perhaps Chris couldn't notice because he was already taken." The reverie of the seemingly insignificant event recalled even the observations that had lead to his thoughts and words at the time. "And I have to say, as I think about it, when they found us on the Zenobia, once Chris and Jill laid eyes on each other, Jessica and I might as well have been yesterday's stale cannoli. And, I think that's actually what inspired me to suggest that we swap partners." He laughed to himself as he looked back at the monitor, observing how Redfield and Valentine were still smiling and hadn't yet gotten up from the floor, with Jill still half-reclining on top of Chris. "How could I not have? You could practically feel how much they needed to be back together, as if Jill being paired up with me had been like wearing miss-matched shoes."

But Quint had only been half-listening with full disappointment since hearing of Sherawat's interest in Redfield. "Dammit!"

His exclamation broke Parker from his reverie and turned his attention from the smiling and laughing agents on the monitor and back to his compatriot's annoyed demeanor. "What?"

"Oh, I'd had a suspicion Jessica had a thing for guys like Chris," the other groaned, "but I had hoped that my superior way with computers had made some kind of impression."

It had, but Parker Luciani was a much kinder person than that to let Cetcham know of what things Jessica had said of him in private. Quint may have lacked sophistication with women, demonstrated the psychological profile of someone who'd probably watched more pornography than the next guy out of having spent too much time alone, and could sometimes even come off as childish especially when around agent Keith Lumley, but overall, he was a good and harmless individual who had his own merits. It was then Parker silently wished for Quint to find a nice, equally-awkward, nerdy girl, but didn't bother to think about it ever again after that.

On the floor of the north supply closet, Jill pulled herself off Chris and sat beside him, catching her breath from all their laughing. "You still coming over at seven?" she asked as she re-fashioned her ponytail.

"Those were my orders, 'Captain'," came Redfield's teasing reply as he sat up from the floor.

"C'mon, partner," she said rubbing and patting him on the chest as if he was a faithful and obedient workhorse. "We shouldn't linger; Quint's probably watching on the security camera."

"Should we wave to him?" asked Chris.

"Why not?"

Back inside the intelligence room, Quint and Parker saw agents Valentine and Redfield look directly into the security camera, smile broadly and wave at them.

Cetcham and Luciani quickly averted their gazes, being caught like naughty schoolboys discovering their first girlie magazine and pretending to still have the innocence to not have been able to marvel at its contents, completely forgetting that Chris and Jill could not possibly have been able to see them. Quint quickly looked around for something to do. "Dammit, Parker. Why are you bothering me with this trivial nonsense? I have work to do."

Parker sighed again.

FEBRUARY 13TH, 1998 – RCPD – STARS SHOWER ROOM

Jill Valentine slowly ran fingers through freshly shampooed hair, under the warm water of the showerhead, cleansing herself from the remainder of the gore that she had been baptized in earlier. This latest mission had provided the unnecessary headache where the perpetrators, participants in white slavery this time, had decided to not go peacefully. They had been armed, somehow being tipped off that STARS was making this D-day for their illegal operations, and they had been waiting for them. No one on the STARS team suffered any injuries, but innocent victims of the slave trade were haplessly thrown into the crossfire by those who attempted to possess their bodies to sell for profit.

Jill Valentine hadn't just returned fire or engaged the offenders in physical combat, but had also tried to administer rudimentary first aid while waiting for ambulances. It had been one of those missions where she felt she earned the honor to be in STARS. Feeling the warm water on her sore muscles made her anticipate the relief of a soft, warm bed later that night.

Jill was alone in the open shower room. The females of STARS didn't have their own private place to shower aside from the men, and the only other female was Chambers, who had not been present for today's events. Jill had waited until all the male members who would have needed the facilities were done, which meant that by the time she had stripped down, only a few people had remained for the day. But obviously, it wasn't for just these reasons why Valentine was so shocked to hear a male voice call her name from directly behind her. Because she had endured the rigorous job and training of STARS, she was startled, but didn't scream, and was mostly annoyed than anything else at finding her partner, Chris Redfield behind her, fully clothed, with his hands covering his eyes.

"Chris! What in the world are you doing here?"

"I'm not looking, I swear! I'm not even fake 'not looking', see?" He removed his hands to show that his eyes were also closed. He placed his hand back over his eyes.

"That still doesn't explain why you're here!"

"This was the only place where I could talk to you in private."

"Oh good grief!" Jill reached down and twisted the handle to turn off the water so she could hear him speak better. Even though she believed him when he said he wasn't looking, Jill still covered herself as best she could with her arms and hands. "What is it, Chris?" Her irritation at such a random occurrence was apparent.

"I need to talk to you about tomorrow."

"Couldn't you have just called?"

"Well, right after I talk to you, I have to talk to the Captain about this, and not everyone's left yet, so this really was the best way."

As long as he wasn't looking at her, Jill really couldn't find an opposing argument to his reasoning. "O-okay. . . . what-what is it about tomorrow?"

"Uh . . . well," Chris began as he kept one hand over his eyes while the other was gesticulating. "I was thinking things over last night, and I've decided you were right, and I think we should cancel it."

Jill blinked and was a little incredulous. For the past thirteen days, her partner had been pushing this private rendezvous vigorously, and wouldn't even hear of it just days ago when she tried to talk him into cancelling it. "Why the change of heart, Chris?"

"I mean, you were never comfortable with it, and in areas where you and I are most dependent on our solidarity as partners, it's . . . well . . . imperative for us to have one mind about things. And there are times a compromise isn't even possible, you know? And . . . uh . . . in this instance particularly, it seems I'm the only one that even liked the idea in the first place while you're practically being coerced into something you didn't want to do, and you deserve more consideration than that."

"I find it funny you're making a decision based on consideration and my comfort while you're invading my shower," she remarked with some derision.

Chris sighed heavily and dropped his head as though averting his gaze to the floor out of exasperation regardless of the fact that he couldn't see anything anyway. But seeing wasn't exactly the motivation behind the action, and Jill recognized this fact with sympathy.

"I know, but like I said I just –"

She interrupted him. "I'm grateful that you changed your mind though. I appreciate it."

Chris said nothing and just nodded resolutely before preemptively turning and leaving. Jill turned around, and was about to turn the shower handle to finish the business of showering, when her partner's voice arrested her.

"For the record," he said, with his back facing her, ". . . I really was looking forward to taking you out. . . . I'm sorry about everything." Before Jill could respond, Chris left the shower room entirely, leaving her alone with newfound, perplexing contemplations.

Mere moments later found Valentine's partner approaching Captain Wesker's desk with a mix of dejection and determination in the emotional effort to not acknowledge the dejection, and it seemed that the sheer energy with which Chris was feeling these emotions somehow caused the STARS Captain to look up from his paperwork before Redfield could excuse his intrusion.

"Yes, what is it, Chris?"

"Excuse me, sir, but Agent Valentine and I had just been discussing tomorrow's partnership-building assignment, and we've decided-"

"The activities for the night," a familiar feminine voice interrupted. "Do you wish anything particular for the report, sir?"

Chris quickly looked to find his partner had mysteriously materialized at her usual place at his side as though she'd always been there.

"The usual report procedures with more emphasis on your personal impressions will suffice, Jill," rejoined the Captain.

"Thank you. That is all, sir." She picked up her duffle bag at her feet and both agents left the STARS office, with one agent much more bewildered than the other.

"Why the change of heart, Valentine?" asked Chris as he held open the exit door leading into the parking lot for her.

"Just make sure not to be late; girls really hate that." Jill gave him a coy look over her shoulder, and spritely walked to her car alone.

FEBRUARY 11TH, 2006 – JILL VALENTINE'S APARTMENT BUILDING

"Dammit. I should've cancelled this," said Chris aloud to himself. He had been riding the elevator for the first few floors alone, which granted him the freedom from distraction to experience oppressive thoughts. Somehow, his conversation with Barry Burton from several days ago had managed to break free these thoughts from their comfortable chains of denial. They were now assailing Chris' emotions with renewed vigor. He hated thinking about them because they made him feel things he rather wouldn't – things that made him feel helpless, and with that helplessness, whispered suggestions of inspired actions to perform that he'd convinced himself he shouldn't dare.

Perhaps mercifully, Chris felt the elevator begin to slow down to its eventual stop to allow another passenger onboard. This at least would aid him in erecting a rudimentary emotional barricade so as not to allow himself to become immersed in the aforementioned thoughts and then do or say something crazy in front of a stranger; these types of thoughts had just such power to do that.

The door slid open, and a frail elderly, black man shuffled into the elevator carriage with Chris. The septuagenarian smiled up at him pleasantly, and Chris took it as a cue to ask him which floor the man needed as he was nearest to the call buttons, and making a frail elderly man push past the seemingly gargantuan Redfield to access them would have been rude indeed. The man thanked him. The elevator started up again, and silence prevailed within the carriage, although not in Chris' mind.

"Either I have got to see this girl, or you've done something very bad," came the small, cracked voice of the wrinkled, little man.

"Excuse me?" asked Chris, nearly startled from his meditations.

The man gave a gentle, amused smile and a nod to the bouquet of two-dozen roses that Chris had been holding behind his back. Redfield relaxed his "at ease" stance, which he had regressed into from his time in the Air Force, and looked at the roses quizzically before the man's words could begin to make sense.

"Oh. . . . Oh yeah," rejoined Chris with a half of a polite laugh. He didn't offer any more as there was nothing he could think to say to add to the conversation without incriminating himself to himself.

"Whichever the case, she must be very special to you."

"Uh . . . well, yeah," Chris replied with a grimace as he found he couldn't deny the man's assessment from any angle of any context especially in regards to the ones he would've liked to deny.

"Oh, boy. She's got you all shook up."

". . . What makes you say that?" Chris asked finally turning toward the man. In doing so, which allowed him to actually observe this temporary companion, he found eyes twinkling with the kind of wisdom that knew humanity too well to allow for any kind of judgment. They were eyes that somehow knew Chris Redfield inside and out the moment they had fallen upon him, before he had even spoken the first word. Looking into eyes such as these, he knew it was futile to keep up his denials because, to this elderly man, they'd only seem wayward and naïve. All the barricades broke loose.

"You're as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, son. Felt it when I came on the elevator. And I figure, there's not much in this world that could take on big fella like you unless it was a lady."

Chris flashed back to gigantic snakes, monstrous sharks, menacing lizard creatures, and blonde women that morphed into flying queen ant things that could throw napalm. "You'd be surprised."

"So is this an apology or something that has to do with the potential for the two of you to combine your futures?"

"It's neither," answered Chris, but realized that his uneasiness deserved an explanation. "It's complicated."

The elderly man slowly shook his head. "'It's complicated'," he repeated back to the much younger man. "Been hearin' those words a lot when it comes you young folk and your relationships. Back in my day, when we met a girl we liked and got along with, we courted her for a little while, married her, and somehow managed to get through the next fifty or more years with that same girl despite many of the troubles that came up. Weren't nothing complicated about it. . . . How long have you been with her?"

Chris took a deep breath, anticipating the reaction from his companion, knowing that there would be an uncomfortable amount of truth in it. "Eight years."

The man shook his head again. "That's too long for a courtship. You should make something happen tonight, if you were to ask me."

Chris knew he could explain that he and Jill were just work partners that had been through a lot together, but that wasn't much of an explanation while he held two-dozen roses in his hand with the suggestion of Barry Burton running through his mind and making him altogether disquieted and maybe a little angry at himself for his desire to believe that what Burton suggested was not only a good but also a plausible course of action. ". . . It's complicated," was all he could say again.

The man took a minute of thought before he responded. "It seems it's often the case these days that there's a lot of people who don't know what they want, and the people who don't know what they want get the folk that do know what they want mixed up in their nonsense and cause them a lot of heartache. I can already tell that you're a young man who knows what he wants, so I don't need to ask you this question, but I will ask you the question about her; does she love you back?"

Perhaps if Chris hadn't looked into this sage of the modern age's eyes, he would have been startled by the question and would have tried to hide behind some artful dodge, however, he couldn't help but be very honest in his reply even though it sparked more emotions he'd rather not feel and was good at pushing away. "I . . . don't think so . . . or, I mean . . . I don't think she could . . . in that way."

The twinkling, dark eyes looked upon Chris with great understanding as the man nodded. "I see. Well, eight years is a very long time to be left wanting the love of another who can't return it. Too often it leads to unhappiness, and you seem like too nice a young man to be kept waiting that long." The eyes brightened. "Maybe we met today so I could help you out though."

"How do you mean?" Chris was unsure of any way this man could help. Whereas his answers had been honest to his feelings, they weren't exactly honest to the situation, which was in fact complicated.

"Now I know how you must feel about this girl here," stated the man pointing at the flowers, "but there is this nice young lady that helps out me and missus once in a while. Kindhearted, beautiful and intelligent as the day is long. Could never figure out why she was always single. I just know she could love a man like you; give you what you need."

The elevator began to slow down, and came to an easy stop. Chris readied himself for the doors to open.

"As a matter of fact," began the old man, "she lives on this very floor too."

"I'll give it some thought," stated Chris absently as the doors opened, and he let himself out.

"Her name's Jill," called the man. "Jill Valentine."

Chris quickly looked back at the man only to see him give a wink and a nod as the doors closed again before he had a second to react.

A moment later found Chris ambling down the hallway mindlessly, wondering how the complete opposite of what he needed to hear could have happened at the most inappropriate time from a total stranger. It was as if some mean-spirited deity had orchestrated the whole thing just to mess with him. Chris looked up toward the ceiling. "Seriously?" he challenged in futility, and in futility, he collapsed onto someone's apartment door, and hit his head on it once in his futile angst.

Suddenly the door slowly opened with unsure caution, and Chris quickly righted himself to a straight stand, wondering what to say to the apartment's inhabitant, or if he should walk away pretending that nothing had happened.

"Oh hi, Chris," said Jill. "I wasn't sure if I heard you knock, or if I was just hearing things."

By the expression on his face, Chris was thoroughly confused. "Jill?"

"What?"

He looked down the hallway, wondering how he could have walked to the exact apartment he needed to be at without the slightest bit of thought or keeping track of the door numbers. For a split second, he pondered if Jill had moved and not told him, but instantly realized that was a ridiculous possibility, although he found himself begin to ask anyway. "Jill, did you . . . ?"

"Did I what?"

"Nevermind."

And Chris' confusion made Jill confused so she poked her head from the doorway to look down the hallway to see what her partner was looking at. Finding nothing, she looked back up at him. "Did I miss something?"

Chris brought his free hand to his eyes and rubbed them as if doing so would give him the clarity he needed. First the man trying to hook him up with his own partner who he was desperately trying not to acknowledge his feelings for, and now this weirdness. "I think I missed something," he replied.

"Well, you can miss it again after we have dinner. It's getting cold."

"Okay, Jill," he said in a discontented sigh.

She took him by the necktie and gently pulled him inside like a large dog on a leash that was either too in love with its petite mistress or too thoroughly broken to know that it's own strength and mass would allow it to be successful should it choose to be wayward.

FEBRUARY 14TH , 1998 – JILL VALENTINE'S APARTMENT

"I knew I should've let Chris cancel this," sighed Jill, looking forlornly at herself in her dresser mirror. She couldn't recall a time when she felt so nervous about a date, especially a date that in actuality wasn't one. But her arguments for this not being a good idea, which she had presented to her partner in the STARS locker room a couple weeks ago, were not the only things running through her mind; Chris' reasoning for his ostensible attempts at getting her to allow him to take her out were very conscious. _Why_, she asked herself. _Why couldn't he have asked me out because he wanted to, not because he feels sorry for me? _She soon chided herself for even thinking this way, knowing full well that it was just a bad idea for partners to go on dates. But Jill found she couldn't help it though . . . not when she had her concealed reasons for feeling this way.

It had been no big deal when she'd met Chris Redfield through Barry Burton that first day and found herself revisiting the uncomfortable pangs of schoolgirl self-consciousness feeling every bit like the shy, library volunteer meeting the captain of the football team. But such feelings she could easily hide. It was when Captain Wesker put them together as partners that she felt her heart crush under its own weight. She thought to request a new partner, but there was just no way of doing this without it seeming suspicious, and she felt that if she had been upfront with the Captain, showing such weakness made her a liability. If anything, she imagined Captain Wesker asking her what difference would it make if Redfield was her partner or not because either way, she'd have to fight through her feelings for the good of the team.

But she never imagined the insanity of Chris Redfield actually asking her out on a date, and getting the backing of Captain Wesker to boot! And of course, to make it all worse, his motivation behind asking her had little to do with her personally and nothing to do with returning her attraction toward him. It was just as well, she thought, reflecting on Bambi, Chris' erstwhile ex. She looked, thought, and acted nothing like that air-headed bimbo . . . but girls the ilk of Bambi were obviously her partner's preference.

Jill dropped her head into her arms on top of the dresser and wondered if it was too late to surreptitiously contract a stomach flu. And it certainly was, for no sooner had she wondered this, but a knock sounded on her apartment door, and by the instinctual quailing in her heart, she knew who was creating it. Jill pulled herself off the dresser, drummed up some determination, and nearly marched down the hallway. She stopped at the front door, and took a deep breath.

She lost all this militant composure however as soon as she opened the door to be greeted by a bouquet of a dozen roses.

"Oh!" she practically exclaimed.

"Happy Valentine's Day."

She gingerly took the bouquet from her partner's hand. "Why, thank you, Chris. You must be putting the rose farmers' kids through college by now."

"Not quite," replied Chris laughing as he eased into a relaxed stance against the doorjamb. "But we are on a first name basis. Had dinner with the family."

She smiled. "Seriously though. You really didn't need to buy me all these roses, especially after all the ones you've been giving me for the past few weeks."

"Yeah, I did. It's Valentine's Day. Besides it was all I could do without knowing what your favorite flower is." Chris waited a moment, intentionally leaving the space for Jill to tell him her favorite flower, but she was silent. He watched her avert her gaze from the bouquet to the side of the hallway as though thinking to tell him, but she never did.

"You look different," she said instead. "You shaved."

"Of course I did," he replied nonchalantly. "Gotta show some respect for my lady."

"Oh yeah. That's right."

Chris was mildly bemused by her cryptic answer. "What's right?"

Jill was leisurely feeling the soft petals of one of the plush roses between her thumb and forefinger. "There were several days where you came to the office shaven a few weeks ago. You were dating Bambi at the time."

Chris looked slightly angered and wearied at the same time with his relaxed pose turning into one of mild confrontation, leaning on his forearm over Jill instead of just toward her. "Listen, Valentine, we better lay down some ground rules before we continue on this field trip: one, we never mention Bambi."

She looked up at him with such a confidently coy demeanor, that Chris lost his authoritative bluster. Jill knew she had the upper hand now. He may have been able to unintentionally torture her by taking her out on a date with no feeling, but she could retaliate with this special ammunition. And for Chris, staring into her blue eyes, gleaming with devilish schemes, he found he couldn't help but surrender to her and wanted to do nothing but. Jill might have been more merciful had she known this, but there was no way she could have.

"Now that's not nice, Chris. You should have been more grateful to find a girl like her in the Midwest. Normally you'd have to go to Texas or Southern California to find that caliber of cosmetic surgery."

He was nearly flabbergasted. "Hey now. That had nothing to do with it."

Jill put her flowers down inside the apartment and picked up her purse. "Oh didn't it? Then what possessed Marini to tell Speyer that she was your type then?" She stepped outside her apartment, closed the door, and went about locking it.

"My – my type? I don't have a –"

"Huge tracks of land," she interrupted, indicating a large bust with her hands.

"Oh – oh that. Um . . . well . . . ." And Chris was a flurry of conflicting emotions, being impressed and endeared on one hand that Valentine had made a Monty Python reference, but embarrassed and upset with himself that he had admitted to some of his male teammates to having a predilection for women with generous cup sizes. His thoughts raced for a moment as he wondered if he should explain that size wasn't the only factor, but shape as well, however, realizing that if he went deeper into this, it could very organically lead to Jill asking him to clarify how the grading scale worked. And the only way for Chris to explain the grading scale adequately was by example – dangerous territory indeed – for the best example he knew regarding specimens of equally pleasing proportions of size and shape were the very ones in front of him now displayed so very cutely underneath a blue, form-fitting sweater dress.

"C'mon, Chris. We'll be late for dinner," came Jill interrupting his stammering. She'd decided she'd had enough with this conversation and headed for the elevator. All her companion could do was follow her.

But he felt he hadn't justified himself yet, and for whatever reason, he desperately wanted to either for the sake of his deep respect for her or for her comely curves undulating in feminine syncopation in front of him – at the moment, his tragically male brain couldn't separate one from the other. "Hey, for the record," he started after he found his tongue again, "let me remind you that it was my idea to break up with her." He followed her into the elevator.

"Poor thing must have been heartbroken. Hit the ground floor button will you, Chris?"

He absently did as he was told. "Are you being facetious, Valentine?"

"Why ever would you say that?" she asked innocently.

"I don't know. Feel like you're making fun of me," he nearly grumbled. Chris folded his arms across his chest to protect himself from any more veiled verbal assaults that he couldn't prove were actually happening.

Jill looked over at him from the corner of her eye; to her, he seemed to be pouting. She smiled to herself.

Jill decided to behave herself when they got to the restaurant, and dinner went off without a hitch with stirring conversation that pertained mainly about work. Overall, Jill was pleased. She was leisurely stirring her cocktail with its straw when she decided to tell her date so. "You done good, Redfield."

He seemed to brighten at her compliment. "You know the night's still young. You wanna see a movie after this?"

She sat back in the booth. "Sure. The Quality 16 is having a Gamera marathon."

"Gamera?!" Chris was shocked.

"Mm-hm. For just three-fifty a ticket you can see all the classic Gamera movies. It's over eight hours of Japanese monster mash."

Chris rubbed his eyes with one hand and sighed deeply. "I'm sure Titanic is still playing in the theaters, Jill."

"But I already know what happens in Titanic. The ship hits an iceberg, it sinks, and almost everybody dies."

"Okay, but doesn't Gamera win every movie?" he countered.

"I don't know. Do you know if Gamera wins in every movie, Chris?" she asked pointedly.

And Chris couldn't honestly answer that having to admit to himself that he'd never seen a Gamera movie but for a few randomly placed minutes. "Okay, I guess I'm up to the challenge, but I don't know if I can last through eight hours."

"Oh, I wouldn't ask you to. I haven't seen Gamera Vs. Zigra or even Gamera Vs. Monster X yet. So either one is fine."

"All right then. In the epic battle of Gamera Vs. Titanic, Gamera wins." Chris never thought he'd ever utter words relating to a giant jet-propelled, fire-breathing chelonian on a date, but he was beginning to see that anything was possible when with Jill Valentine. He amusedly drank his beer.

Later that night found Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine walking on the yellowed cobblestoned aisles through the city hall gardens flanked on either side by colorful flowers and manicured shrubs. Because it was late, they were the only people around while most lovers on Valentine's Day had retired to their homes for other forms of amorous pursuits. Had one been at the right places in Raccoon City, they might have heard the sounds of lovemaking, while a scant few were subjected to Jill Valentine singing the Gamera theme.

"Tsuyoi-zo Gam-er-a! Tsuyoi-zo Gam-er-a! Tsuyoi-zo Gam-er-raaaaa!"

Chris laughed. "You sure love your cheesy, Japanese cult films, don't you, Jill? Personally, I'm not sure I get it; a giant turtle with rocket jets, flying through space. How's that make any sense?"

"Screw your logic, Redfield. That's how it makes sense!"

Chris laughed again at Jill's playful sassiness. It just endeared her to him even more.

She wrapped her arm around his and nearly seemed to be hugging it out of gratitude. "Thanks for letting me see both movies and watching them with me!"

He was emboldened by her touch. "How could I do any less? I'm a man; it's part of my function to make you happy." He laid his head on hers.

"Oh?" asked Jill with interest. She quickly decided he was joking. "No, you're making that up."

"No, it's true. A lot of what builds a man's ego is wrapped up in how well he can make his woman happy."

Jill ignored the insinuation of Chris' claim to her. Although she certainly wouldn't have minded his claim, she knew it was impossible for it to have been serious. Reminding herself of this, her mood shifted. She was getting carried away by all the positive attention from her partner as though he cared about her more than just being a work compatriot. Becoming downcast, she pulled away from Chris and let go of his arm. "I'm sorry you had to sit through three hours of Gamera."

"If that's all I had to do to make you this happy, it was well worth it." He looked over at her, finally noticing that she was no longer smiling. She was clutching her purse with both hands, and wasn't even walking as closely at his side as she had been. He couldn't know what had caused this sudden change in her but assumed it was something he'd said even though he couldn't find anything derogatory in his last statement. Chris reached over and took her hand in his. "This is the most interesting date I've ever been on."

"Hm. That's nice," she rejoined absently making it a conscious choice to reply to his comment as though it was a compliment, but not believing that it was.

Wishing her smile to come back, he thought to change the subject. "So I've been wanting to ask you something."

"Hm?"

"I know you know about my family, but I'm curious to know about yours."

Jill was silent for a moment. "Why do you want to know?"

Chris shrugged. "I guess 'cause you don't really strike me as the type who would join STARS. Become a cop, maybe, but still unlikely. You more remind me of someone who'd – I don't know – be a doctor, or do something with the homeless or the elderly."

"Why is that? Why wouldn't you think I'd want to help bring about justice in Raccoon City?"

"It's not that," started Chris. "It's more like, being a part of STARS can be really violent work, and you're not a violent person."

"You're not a violent person either."

"I'm not?" he raised an eyebrow thinking of some recent events the STARS teams had been involved with where he had been required to show off his close-quarters-combat skills, which had not ended prettily for those on the receiving end of his knife-wielding fist.

"No," insisted Jill. "You're efficient. You do what you have to do for the good of the victims or to bring about that justice. Just because you probably have stopped being shaken up every time you've had to shoot a guy doesn't mean you're a violent person. . . . And I guess that's how it is with me."

"I'll say," returned Chris. "You never look scared . . . ever."

Jill bit her lip and shrugged. "I've just been around it a lot."

"So, can I guess?" he asked sitting down on the edge of a nearby fountain. He gently pulled her over to sit at his side.

"At what?"

"What your childhood was like?"

"Go for it."

"Okay. I imagine a yellow house on a small green yard. White picket fence. Your mom stayed at home, while your dad was a cop. And your dad came from a long line of cops from his great grandfather on down, however, you were his only child, so you felt that you needed to keep the lineage going, so you joined the academy and got such good grades that when the time came, Wesker snatched you up."

Jill gave a sad smile. "Not quite. . . ." she paused, almost not daring to continue, but for some unforeseen reason, she did. "My father left me and my mom when I was really young. We lived in kind of a bad area. My mom said she didn't have any skills except the one that all women have and all men are willing to pay for, and she used it to make ends meet. When I was about fifteen, my mom started noticing that some of her Johns were more interested in me than they were her, so she started to try to get me to help with the finances. She wouldn't let up, so I ran away from home. Going by a few distant leads, I tracked down my dad, and I lived with him for a while. He was a burglar, and he was the one that taught me how to pick locks so well. He wasn't much of a father, but I kinda wasn't expecting him to be. I just needed an adult to live with because I was too young to legally live on my own or work for a living wage. And one day, I guess he got himself into some real trouble with someone, and he left town, pressing on me to do better for myself, but . . . honestly, I think he just didn't want the extra baggage. So, yeah, several years later I was done with training and applying myself to be a part of STARS."

She waited for Chris to say something, but he couldn't speak.

Jill broke the silence, "But you were right about one thing; the trailer we lived in was yellow." She laughed lightly.

"Jill –"

She couldn't withstand the intimacy of Chris' gaze, so she looked away. She couldn't stand the thought of him feeling more pity for her, more than he already felt merely for her lack of dating. "It's getting late; I think I should go home." She got up from the fountain.

"Does anyone else know about this?"

Jill turned to face Chris and adopted an unconcerned demeanor. "I think Barry knows some of it; I might have told him some things. And I'm sure Captain Wesker knows more of it from the background check they do. But I should get going."

"Well – wait!" said Chris standing up. "Let me take you home."

No more pity. She just couldn't tolerate him feeling that way about her. Although slightly angry with herself for divulging more information to garner more feelings of concern that had nothing to do with her merits as a person, she responded with feigned laxity. "It's okay, Chris. I can take care of myself."

But he caught her by the arm before she could get away. "I know," he said softly. "Sounds like you've been doing that your whole life." He held her eyes deeply within his. "But will you let me take care of you until I get you home?"

Once again, Jill lowered her eyes to the ground. She couldn't hide from it any longer. Chris Redfield just had a way of looking at her with such sincerity that seemed to desperately want her to believe that he cared about her because she was who she was. His eyes seemed to want her to believe that he thought she was special. He probably looked at all his dates that way, she thought. But still, this one time, she wanted to believe in it. "Okay," she agreed quietly.

Chris took her hand again, and they both walked toward the exit of the gardens.

They were nearly back at Jill's apartment before she let go of Chris' hand, and he only allowed her to let go so she could unlock her door.

"So, I'm kinda curious to know what you're going to put in that report," he said as he watched her put her key away.

"Only what he wanted to know," she said simply.

"Okay, but what were your personal impressions?"

"I had a good time." Jill turned to face her partner with a soft smile. "You were a gentleman, and I got to expand my Gamera viewing."

Chris smiled. "Well . . ." but he didn't finish.

"Well, what?"

He knew even then that he shouldn't say the words, but every fiber of his being fought against what it knew it shouldn't want just for the mere chance to obtain what it did want. "I'd really like to do this again," he said tenderly.

Jill looked down again for a moment before meeting Chris' eyes. There was something so familiar about the way they looked at her then. It was similar to the look her mother's customers gave: an almost hungry look that dissembled affection, yet with Chris, the affection felt genuine. And unlike her mother's patrons, his gaze let her know that he was surrendering all the power over to her to end this encounter however she saw fit, yet was gently hoping that she would choose to return that affection in a more definitive way. She briefly thought about it, even had to admit to herself that she would have liked to, but she had to face reality.

"Bob Marley once said, 'the biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman's love with no intention of loving her.'"

Chris' brows furrowed as something inside was deeply disturbed by her words. ". . . Why are you saying this?"

Jill swallowed. ". . . I know you're not a coward, Chris, and I'd hate to see you act like one. Just think about it. . . . Good night." Before Chris could fully process her perplexing words to gather a response, Jill went into her apartment and shut the door.

The next few weeks would be very strange for Chris Redfield in the STARS office. He couldn't shake the feeling that he and his partner Jill had somehow formed a greater, more intimate bond between each other, but he would have to realize that he was probably just confusing that feeling for the fact that spending such personal time with her, getting the opportunity to care for her and see that he could make her happy, he'd opened those forbidden gates to powerful feelings that were difficult to close, and now felt more deeply about her than he had before. Jill on the other hand, acted no differently. She never even seemed to notice his sidelong glances or how much harder he seemed to try to protect her during missions.

_So that's how it has to be_, he thought to himself with a heavy-heart. But he knew it had been his own fault. And he couldn't fight the disquieting feeling he got, remembering those last several things she'd said to him that night that almost confessed her own feelings about him, while her actions toward him specifically had refused to change.

Over the next eight years, his actions would loudly speak the words he couldn't confess to her.

FEBRUARY 11TH, 2006 – JILL VALENTINE'S APARTMENT

_. . . The biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman's love with no intention of loving her . . . . _

Time and again, over the years, those words would occasionally haunt Chris Redfield who never had any intention of acting like the coward Jill feared him to become. There would be times where he would be alleviated that their relationship hadn't evolved into something deeper, but those feelings of relief had everything to do with the demands of the job and personal protection. They never involved a disappearance of what he really felt and desired.

Chris felt Jill contentedly sigh in her sleep on his chest. It wasn't unusual whenever they hung out with each other for either of them to fall asleep on the other as they watched a movie. This time it was Jill's turn to do so. Throughout the course of watching tonight's film, Chris had stretched out on the couch once Jill decided to lean on him, and eventually they ended up lying down with Valentine resting on top with one of his hands resting comfortably on the small of her back. And it was moments like this one, where Chris was mentally alone, that Jill's quoting of Marley from eight years ago returned to the forefront of his mind.

They'd been through so much together since then, and with all those trials they'd faced, came a forced denial of the things they wanted out of life for the sake of saving other lives. Although Chris had tried to keep up with the tradition of taking her out on Valentine's Day as a means to show gratitude for her partnership, the feelings were never quite the same as that first Valentine's Day. After the incidents in the Arklay mountains, Raccoon City, Russia, and the myriad of missions afterward that sometimes seemed to blend together now, Chris was very mindful to keep the emotions in check that tried to make themselves known on that first Valentine's Day. Jill had followed him from Raccoon City all the way into Europe as he tracked down Wesker when there had been nothing forcing her to do so. She had proven then, that Jill was no longer just a partner assigned by a job, but his partner in the face of some of the worst struggles a person could ever know. For the past eight years, Chris had just attributed that to her sense of justice, and maybe for a while, that's all that it was, but now he was beginning to wonder. With what Burton had suggested several days ago, and more recently, meeting the old man in the elevator, Chris was considering other possibilities for the motivations behind Jill's actions. He already knew he meant a lot to her, and her to him, but perhaps it wasn't just their desire to stop Albert Wesker and bioterrorism that they shared; maybe, just maybe they shared something more common that they only felt for each other.

The words came back and haunted him again.

Chris brought his other arm around Jill and dared to hold her a little closer, hoping against hope that if she were awake, she wouldn't mind. She stirred with the additional pressure, but only to nestle her face a little deeper into his chest.

_If only you could show me a sign,_ he thought. Reflections on past missions played themselves in his mind as though searching for that sign, but there was nothing obvious beyond the assumed feelings entailed from just being his long-time partner. There were many close calls that could have claimed their lives, but miraculously they lived through them. He consciously knew then that if he had to in any of those given times, he'd have given his life so she could keep hers. Chris wondered if she had the depth of feeling to be willing to commit that act of sacrifice for him, but prayed it would never come to that even if it meant him never knowing how she truly felt.

These feelings were too difficult to face right now. He was going to have to keep a clear head before and during their upcoming mission to apprehend Ozwell E. Spencer. Even if he was stupid enough to consider being open to Jill about all this, he couldn't do it before the mission, as there was no telling what her reaction would be. Should that reaction be what he feared most, it could mean the end of the partnership. Chris decided that he and Jill should at least have this last mission to bring some kind of completion to their hardships together if that were to be the case.

_After we apprehend Spencer,_ he told himself. _Then . . . I'll tell her._ Chris Redfield rested his face into Jill Valentine's hair and closed his eyes.

FEBRUARY 14TH, 2006 - SPENCER ESTATE

The first several seconds had passed in a total blur with both Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine relying solely on muscle memory gathered from experiences re-visited through years of struggles to cut down on reaction time . . . but it still wasn't enough to keep up with Albert Wesker who seemed to merely bend the laws of time and physics to which ever way he willed them. By the time Chris or Jill had landed a blow, Wesker's body was immaterial again, a black rush of wind that struck from the space between spaces.

Since their days in STARS, Chris and Jill had learned to fight as one, by now never fearing a blow from the other by a mis-calculated strike, feeling and knowing at all times where the other was, however, the apparition that was Wesker easily divided them as though intercepting and snapping apart their personal connection, the strings of which he had once woven.

A black gloved hand coiling around and collapsing Chris' throat, slammed the heavier man down upon a long dining table, and effortlessly used his body to scrape off its varnish before releasing him and letting momentum fling him several feet away, sliding onto the hard, stone slab floor. When Chris' body stopped, his head was still whirling and dazed from the fight. Heavy footsteps approached him before his brain could get enough oxygen again to assess what was happening. The hand wrapped around the shoulder strap of Chris' body armor, but long fingers purposely dug mercilessly into soft flesh, and by an unbelievable feat of unnatural strength, Wesker lifted Chris high in the air above his head. Seeing no eyes, but only the double reflection of himself in Wesker's mirrored lenses, struggling in vain, Redfield knew he was out of options. Nearly a decade of searching and struggles, only to have it end in a matter of seconds.

From across the room, Jill tried to retrieve her breath from having it knocked out of her once Wesker's strike had flung her into a glass-paned bookcase. She witnessed Wesker claw his hand menacingly, a prelude to a technique she'd seen before, and knew that within less than a second, she would see Chris' heart in that hand. She forgot about her pain and didn't bother to remember how to breathe.

"NOOO!" Chris heard Jill's labored scream amidst the rushing in his ears.

Wesker refused to heed her, having decided that he'd had enough with this pest in his hand that he should have exterminated a long time ago. "Let's finish this," he snarled.

An anguished cry sounded throughout the ornate room, and Chris saw a flash of blue and felt a force rip Albert Wesker's hand free from his grip. Chris collided onto the hard floor again and heard the window beside him shatter which he momentarily confused with his heart. He quickly clambered onto his feet to get to the window, only too see Albert Wesker falling into the chasm below, with his partner, Jill Valentine, still helplessly clinging onto him.

If only sound had the hands and arms the length of its range . . . for all Chris could do in that moment was call out her name and watch her disappear into the gaping mouth of the chasm.

FEBRUARY 14TH, 2009 - ST. OVERIA CEMETERY

A large, masculine hand tenderly rubbed away the dirt from the sizeable headstone revealing the previously covered letters of the name "Jill Valentine". It had been a while since this gravesite had seen a visitor, but it wasn't because of forgetfulness for the person it commemorated was thought of every day.

Already on one knee, Chris Redfield gently dropped a colorful bouquet of flowers at the grave's base. The bouquet was made up of mostly types of lilies and eucalyptus with a sprig of bluebells. The lilies had been Jill's favorite flower, something she'd lightly mention in passing over the time they'd known each other. And the bluebells were to represent her favorite color.

Chris visited the grave when he could, but it was always with mixed emotions. Sadness was prevalent, but then again, he hadn't smiled since the incident at the Spencer mansion three years ago. The other feeling that always seemed to accompany him on these visits was hope, although over time it had begun to wane. Jill's body had never been recovered, nor had Wesker's for that matter. The only evidence at the scene that night had been Jill's blue cap, caught amidst rocks smattered with blood at the bottom of the ravine. Chris wanted to believe that Wesker was dead, but doing so wouldn't allow him the belief that Jill was alive, however, if Jill was still alive, Chris worried of what Wesker had done with her. There was always the possibility that she had survived the fall only to have died later through Wesker changing her into some kind of monster like Chris had seen happen to Steve Burnside so many years ago. He felt an ache in his chest and knew that now more than ever he could wholly empathize with his sister's pain at losing a loved one to the designs of the proponents of Umbrella.

But then there were the strange, random and few reports that came into the BSAA of a woman appearing from nowhere and being seen in areas with high bioterrorism – a woman matching some physical elements of Jill Valentine. There was nothing conclusive, and any photos were blurry with compromised color and definition. And if it was Jill, it was odd that she hadn't come home or made herself known, but Chris just couldn't shake this feeling that his partner was alive . . . as though wherever she was, regardless of whatever reason she had of hiding, she was still calling out to him.

It had only been a few days ago, that when Redfield had returned from his last mission, he'd volunteered for this new mission to Africa to apprehend a smuggler, Ricardo Irving. Chris' long time friend, Barry Burton, had tried to intercept him from going, saying that Chris had been working too hard, accepting mission after mission for the past three years, but Redfield adamantly refused to listen once the slightest mention of that woman being seen around the Kijuju area with Irving had been heard.

"Chris, I know you're having a hard time accepting Jill's death," Barry had said with a great amount of concern, "but you've got to move on; this obsession isn't healthy!"

It took every ounce reserved of self-control within Redfield to not haul off and slug Burton right then. How could he have had to gall to say such a thing, when Chris was more painfully aware than anyone of the high possibility that his partner was truly dead? Chris screwed shut his eyes at the memory and the profound sting in his heart that it caused. He looked back up at the gravestone with moist eyes and touched the name again.

"Please, Jill," he whispered, swallowing the lump of raw emotion in his throat. "Let me take you home."

Redfield stood from his kneeling position, and put on his sunglasses despite the fact it was an overcast day, but knowing from recent experience how the emotional effects of visiting his partner's grave had a tendency to reveal themselves in his eyes. His heart was heavy, but he felt a swell of determination in his mind almost as though he was making a promise to both himself and his partner: "I'm coming for you."

Somewhere, in a coffin-like box situated amongst millions of others just like it, suspended thousands of feet above any visible floor of a metallic fortress of Machiavellian, scientific experimentation, nestled within the underground ruins of an ancient African civilization, eyelids weakly fluttered open, revealing weary blue eyes. Pale, full lips softly whispered as though in response to a hopeful dream created by a lonely and tortured heart.

". . . Chris. . . . "


End file.
